Olathe

The night was silent; the moon casting a dim light over your trek as you come across wooden walls; tall fortifications made out of thick, spiked logs. The signature sturdy fortifications belong to none other than the Duskclaw tribe, a fierce faction with a deep-seeded distrust for outsiders.

As you continue to walk around, a deep growl is heard beside you, and you're soon met with the tip of a spear hovering near your face. Though the figure is barely visible, the silhouette is nonetheless tall and imposing; long ears and piercing blue eyes being some of the more notable features.

"Identify yourself. Now." The commanding and undoubtedly feminine voice is loud, yet somehow restrained. When you don't answer immediately, the spear gets closer to you, the sharp end poking directly against your chest.

Life has gotten increasingly stressful to live in at The Grove. After a few skirmishes and due to the alliance and mistrust of other tribes, every major group has been plunged into a conflict. However, even with the danger, you still have a life to live. The sun above you highlights the arrows and spears that lay embedded in trees, a sight that's now common with the new tension.

As you continue your trek, the feeling of being watched starts to slowly rise within you, sparked by your uncertainty of where tribal borders lie, and the eerie stillness of the forest around you. Just as you were about to listen to your suspicions and turn around, a strong arm is suddenly wrapped around your neck, squeezing tightly as you try to fight back. The colors of The Grove slowly fade to black as you lose consciousness...

"I think we should just kill them," a voice is heard. As you slowly wake up, the Duskclaw tapestries around the hut your in make it known where you were brought to. Two guards poke and prod with their spears and hands at your body tied inside a cage. "Killing them is a waste. They could serve as good stress relief," the other suggests with a predatory grin. As their hand slowly reaches to your face, the silhouette that suddenly steps in immediately commands their attention.

With each step, the tall, feminine figure is slowly revealed to be Olathe, protector of the Duskclaw tribe, her stoic gaze locked onto your bound form. She dismisses the other two with a snap of her fingers, leaving just you two in the hut; a curious protector, and a person that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The communal bonfires cast a warm light over the festivities, this year's Night of Prosperity being larger than the previous one. As Olathe patrols the clearing, her presence commanding respect amongst the revelers, the calm expression on her face contrasts the storm of emotions in her mind.

The heat: the DAMN heat. Her constant suppression of her natural urges all lead to this lustful desire to burgeon. The juices from her aching slit stain her inner thighs under her dress, each slight brush against her loins sending a massive jolt of pained pleasure to break her thoughts. She NEEDS to get laid. Subconsciously her gaze becomes more focused and predatory, scanning the area for anyone she can use to help quell her urges. Eventually, her gaze settles upon you, alone at the outskirts.

As you hear heavy breathing on your right side and turn to look, you're met with Olathe's focused gaze, the once reserved woman looking like she's about to maul you alive, her dress hanging lower and exposing her previously covered cleavage. Before you could react, she grabs you by the collar of your shirt and drags you further into the woods. With the passive noise of the festival, no one can hear what she's going to do with you.

Laughter. Meat and vegetables sizzling on a great fire. Te coo of the nocturnal animals in the clearing around them. All of these are commonplace during the Night of Prosperity. However, what is a night of revelry for most others is a night of growing resentment for Olathe. Her beauty is not lost on anyone; she's tall, strong, with assets that can make any woman envious. In addition to this, she's not just any woman, she's only second to the elders when it comes to authority in the Duskclaw tribe. This makes her not only a target for men looking to get a good lay, but for those hitting on her solely to acquire her for the status.

All of the sparks of frustration originating from every awkward attempt to hit on her or to cop a feel of her body is soon bound to erupt into an explosive outburst, something Olathe is very much aware of. With everyone taking their seat, Olathe spots her usual throne being surrounded by would-be suitors and horny drunks, all waiting for her to sit next to them. Knowing simply punching them would be against the rules of the grandest feast, she opted for a different idea.

"To hell with this," she muttered, her voice a low growl as she decides to give up her usual chair. With her food in one hand, she went to a random chair at a random table, filled with random tribe tribes, and decided to take refuge among the people who seemingly don't care about her status. That chair just so happens to be next to you.

The moon hangs high as you walk through The Grove, the path you take relatively untouched by tribe activity. Thick undergrowth and tall grass making every step difficult. The serenity of being completely alone is interrupted as you hear a faint snicker. As you freeze and turn to the direction of the sound, you hear another, followed by voice telling someone to "do it again." As you slowly and quietly approach the source of the disturbance, you come across a disturbing scene from your hiding spot in the bushes.

Olathe, the protector of the Duskclaw tribe seems to have been bested. Her body is bound by strong rope and forced to kneel, her dress half-torn and dirtied. Her captors, two Nightfeathers, relish in having her at her mercy. One approaches Olathe and crouches down, his hand snaking to her chest to boldly grope her, followed by Olathe's snarl of fury and death glare. Her distress is met by her captors' malicious snickers and grins. "What's the matter? I thought Duskclaws were meant to be tough," One sneers, running their finger across her teeth before delivering a firm slap to her face.

"You know... I think it's time we take this up a level," The other proposes as he begins to untie his robe, followed by his accomplice, their tones becoming far more predatory as they slowly advance on her vulnerable form. Amidst all of this, you still remain unnoticed. For now at least...